Let me save you some time. If I were you, I'd go ahead and log off. Come back when I really have something to say. If I ever really have something to say, that is.
See. I'm in the last few days of a teacher's semester. So I have...what...nothing to give in the personal writing department. No ideas. No drive. No energy to make my fingers attack the keyboard like they usually do. I'm surprised that I'm showering and feeding myself on a regular basis, actually. The fact that I'm not accidentally showing up to teach wearing last night's food-stained nightgown and having forgotten to wash the toothpaste from my brow-zit is a modern miracle. I'm running on fumes and my writing ideas have all but vanished.
In fact, I've logged on here a few times in the last week, stared at a blank screen with its blinking cursor, and thought, "Aw, to hell with it. I've got nothing."
I'm a little afraid I'll actually forget how to tap into that part of my head that usually is dictating so quickly what it wants me to write that I can scarcely type fast enough. I'm afraid winter break will get here, I'll be faced with oodles of time to write, and I'll crank out some bullshit that will have my 21 blog followers running for the virtual hills. Un-following me. Hiding from me, actually. Please, Lord Jesus, don't let The Playground In My Head find me and force me to read some hideous crap. Please, oh, please...
So, with that said, it's time to tap right into the monkey mind. A quick list of unedited words and phrases. I'll reach up in that space and catch whatever flies by- and this pretty much does nothing but keep the machine well-oiled. So, once again...there's nothing to see here, folks. Nothing to see. Excuse me while I *humpf* climb up through my ear *humpf* and -whew! it's dark in here!- just a bit further back- past this floating image of a tater tot and- will you look at that? it's my dead classroom pet, Big Anthony. what is he doing here? back and back and I'm ready to step into the cash box. let them fly. I'll grab what I can.
-i thought i was getting a text message. i felt my coat pocket vibrate. it was actually my stomach. i wonder if my stomach is trying to text me. if it uses any little emoticons and tells me it's hungry, i'm kicking its ass. if my stomach has an ass. which it probably does.
-there's a saint that's known for her stinky holes. at least, that's what i was told by a christian brother during one of my many summer stays in philadelphia. only he had a thick hispanic accent, so it was more like "hair steeeeenky halls." i guess this lady was dying, and had some stinky holes. and they plugged the holes with flowers. and the flowers turned into diamonds the next day. now, that's what i'm talking about.
-for as long as i live, i will never understand my dog's obsession with licking her own butt hole. it's seriously, seriously gross. you never see humans doing anything that nasty. we pretty much leave our holes alone. in public, at least. except for our nostrils, but even nose-picking comes with a little bit of social shame when caught. and i've never, ever seen a human compulsively lick his or her butt hole. then again, i've never been to the back rooms of those seedy dance places, so who's to say what goes on in there. if butt hole licking is what's happening, well, then- (1) that's super nasty and (2) i'm glad it's happening behind closed doors.
-please, oh lord, don't let a parent of a current or past student or any member of my family over the age of 41 read the comment above. and if they do, don't ever let them reference it in a conversation with me. ever.
-sometimes "i'm sorry" is too shallow a phrase for what needs to be said, so silence is put in its place. and the silence is weighted down to let you know it's there and different from normal silence. and both parties stand and hold onto each other like rhesus monkeys and in the nothingness that is made of words not being spoken, "i'm sorry" lingers.
-i still remember the cologne of my first real crush. this goes back to 6th grade. he doused himself in polo, liberally applied from that emerald bottle with the gold nozzle. being 12, he had no idea what the phrase "a little goes a long way" meant, so each item of clothing was saturated in the musky scent. sprayed, i'm sure, were his wrists, behind his ears, his tiny bare chest, his bony little legs, and his feet. my first slow dance with him resulted in the faint smell of polo cologne all over my vintage chiffon dress. once home, i balled that dress up and shoved it into my face, breathing in all things crush.
-right now there are 5 candles lit in the room in which i'm typing. it is late. my cd has stopped playing. my dog is in her crate. i just had to speak words that i didn't want to, but know i needed to, and- well, there are natural consequences to everything, aren't there? perhaps i took it a bit too far. perhaps i should have stopped at track 5 and not let track 6 begin to play. sorry about that, i had said. sorry about that. i was just...i was...stumbling over my own actions. look behind you for the safety mattress, i tell myself. i tell us both. the ones stunt doubles use. fall into that, if you can. it will hurt a lot less.
-once i lit a candle and placed it in the center of our dining table. i was perhaps 7 or 8 years old. god, i said, if you are there, make that candle flame flicker. the candle flame flickered. okay god, i said, if that was really you, do it again. it did it again. then i realized candle flames naturally flickered, and there was no way for me to tell if god was doing it, or if the candle flame was just doing what flames do. and that rightfully pissed me off.
-if i did have a monkey, i'd be the kind of lady that dressed it and took it everywhere. and, naturally, i would lose some current friends, because monkey dressing and taking around is a bit odd. but, i'd also gain some friends. because, who wouldn't want to see a monkey all dressed up in outfits? i'd eat with it and we'd probably sleep together, but not in any weird porno way. that's sick and i'm disappointed in you for thinking that, to be sure. it would be in that i'm just laying here cuddling with my monkey who is wearing adorable footie pajamas way. which you may argue is no less sick then the weird porno way, but i would argue that it is indeed good, wholesome fun. i'm aware that one day my monkey would become an adolescent and claw my face off and then who would be laughing then? not me. i'd have no face with which to laugh. and not the monkey. it would get shot, i'd imagine. that, they'd say, is the bad part of the story. the end part. but, boy, wasn't it fun while it lasted?
-if i close my eyes and listen to the air blowing through the various vents in my house, i can nearly convince myself that my house is in flight. i mean to say, it sounds much like airplane noise without the *ding!* return to your seat sounds. or the people shuffling through their in-flight magazines or yacking on about their destination. and this is why i put my headphones in as soon as i have a seat on an airplane. i know people are interesting. most of them, anyway. but i'm here to tell you, i want nothing to do with them while we're all sardined in a gargantuan metal suppository barreling its way through the air. i just want to listen to music and read until i get drowsy, then sleep until the peanuts arrive. i like the honey roasted. i stick my tongue in the foil bag when the peanuts are gone and get all the sweet and salty dusty bits.
-damn, if i don't hate doing the responsible thing sometimes. i mean, damn. and ouch. more ouch than damn, i guess. no, they're pretty much equal.
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